


Does the Robin Sing at Night?

by Ash_Panda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Clint Barton is a Good Dad, Does this still count as reader insert?, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character Death(s), Past Torture, Reader-Insert, Supersoldier!Reader, Threesome - F/M/M, not for the characters tho just y’all, probably not but I’m STILL too lazy to give the MC a name so, sorta slow burn, still not gonna be perfect, this is a rewrite, this one's got it all babey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Panda/pseuds/Ash_Panda
Summary: There are figures in the red fog. Figures I don't like to think about. Figures I pretend not to be able to remember. But then one of them turned up at the bar, then I took him to bed, then he took my phone.Turns out here are reasons the red fog is there. There are reasons some things must stay behind it.Turns out I never had much of a choice.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	1. The Asshole that Stole my Phone

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Wolf, the Robin, and the Soldier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160624) by [Ash_Panda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Panda/pseuds/Ash_Panda). 



“ _I thought… I don’t know. I don’t know what I expected. You could always make me remember. I sort of hoped I could do the same. Maybe it’s best you don’t remember. As long as I… happy… you should… so-...”_

Light flooded through my eyelids as I sat up, and before I even opened them, I knew that light was reflecting off of freshly fallen snow. I brought my hand to the side of my neck, bringing it in front of me as I finally forced myself fully awake, squinting in the sunlight. I was certain, as my eyes adjusted, I would see blood on my fingers and dripping onto the snow beneath me, tinting it a vibrant pink. 

But there was no blood. There was no snow. There was only the early morning sunlight streaming in through my bedroom window. The images I had been so certain of faded away with the rest of the dream that had prefaced them, slipping comfortably behind the velvet curtain of subconsciousness. What replaced them was the memories of the night before, sparked by a pleasant ache that flared deep. I glanced to the other side of my bed, not overly surprised to see the covers were thrown back and the mattress empty. The ‘dark stranger’ hadn’t seemed the type to stick around. He hadn’t even given me a name, not that I gave him one either.

I ran my fingers over the dent in the sheets, feeling the fleeting bit of warmth from the absolute heater I had spent the night next to. If it weren’t for this immediate evidence of him, I might’ve been able to convince myself I had only experienced a very vivid- and very horny- dream. Even as it had been happening, I had briefly wondered if I was asleep.

The man, the very personification of the word _brooding,_ who had always seemed to be hiding behind his curtain of hair, had struck me as remarkably familiar. I was nearly certain for some time that he had been in previous, long-forgotten dreams. 

It was ridiculous, of course, and he had quickly rendered me unable to think shortly afterward so it didn’t matter much. But hadn’t he been familiar? And the hand- 

I stretched my arms above my head, hearing a series of blissful pops from my back. I pulled back my covers, exposing bare legs littered with light bruises around my hips- though they seemed darker on my right side- and a hickey on the inside of one thigh. I ran my fingers over these new trophies dreamily, knowing they would fade far too quickly. 

The man had been so gentle at first, using only one hand to lightly explore my skin. It had been me who pressed his fingers down where I liked to be grabbed, constantly assuring him that it was okay, begging him not to hold back. A pleasant shiver ran straight down my spine at the memory, and if it hadn’t been for my stomach suddenly protesting my sleeping late, I might’ve allowed myself to relive it a bit more. But I had slept through breakfast and my body did not function well when it was hungry. I finally slipped out of bed, grabbing the nearest article of clothing: my t-shirt, and heading for the kitchen. 

I was so focused on my mission for food that it wasn’t until after I had stuffed down half of my toast that I realized my phone was nowhere to be found. Hadn’t I put it on the charger? Maybe not. I was almost positive I hadn’t left it at the bar. 

I could even vividly remember putting on something appropriately rhythm-heavy to ward off silence. The man had reacted with a sound between a genuine laugh and a disgusted scoff. I was usually good at picking music to fit the mood, but this guy was practically unreadable when it came to preference. So I chose something somewhat unobtrusive and set my phone aside, falling back into him. 

So where was it now?

Gone. Even trying to track it with GPS proved fruitless. GONE-gone. While triple-checking the pockets of the pants that had been abandoned in the living room the night before, my eyes caught a heap in the shadows by the front door. A black jacket made of thick, worn denim. His jacket. 

_How had he not realized-?_

I slipped it on, the bottom grazing the mid-point of my still-bare thighs. A search through the many pockets produced only a receipt from a petrol station just outside of Quebec and an impressive switchblade- _didn’t he carry one in his jeans too? How many knives does one guy need?_

Just as the light caught the well-worn, but well-cleaned, blade in my hands, a thought occurred to me. No, not a thought, a fact. It made too much sense to be anything else.

“That asshole stole my phone.” 

My empty flat had no response to my revelation. I didn’t either. What could I do about it? Call the police? That would cause a lot more problems than it would solve.

The only realistic solution was to resolve to eat rice and beans for the rest of the month, throw on last night’s pants and last week’s bra to go buy a new phone, and spend the entire drive home wondering what the man’s motivations could have possibly been. He didn’t take anything else; my wallet was on the floor by my pants in plain view. It wasn’t about money.

He had seemed so… genuine. I had, for what little time I knew him, trusted him. Almost instinctively. A rare thing even with people I’ve known for months. 

I realized that I had been zoning out as I was driving, and the instant my mind refocused on the road, I noticed the man standing in the middle of it. A dark figure, sunlight glinting off of a metallic arm. A red star. I slammed on my brakes, earning a long honk from the car behind me. I glanced in my rearview at them, apologizing with a limp wave, before returning my eyes to the man. 

But he was gone- if he had ever been there in the first place, but the memory of him was vivid. The star. I put my foot back on the gas, drove up just enough to pull over, opened my door, and promptly vomited up my toast onto the pavement.

_“I always remember. You make me remember.”_

I was met with a jolt of pain shooting through my skull as my mind desperately tried to re-bury what had just been uncovered. Memories I shouldn’t remember. I leaned my head against the steering wheel, waiting for the pain, and the man, to disappear back in the thick red smoke at the back of my mind that concealed… well, I wasn’t entirely sure. In the mornings, I rarely wanted to ponder on whatever leaked through into my dreams during the night. 

_The hand. The star._

I lifted my head, giving myself a firm look in the rearview, “That’s enough of that. So some asshole stole my phone after some mindblowing sex, that’s nothing to unravel over.” 

My fingertips reached out and grazed the box that held my new phone, reassurance that things could go on. Business as usual. I would go home, make lunch- as it was already nearly that time thanks to the extensive search, and spend the rest of my weekend in quiet solitude. I wouldn’t have to even think about the red smoke and the figures inside it. So, I put my car back into drive and resumed the thankfully short trip back to my apartment. There were no more figures appearing in the road, no more echoes of voices just my radio on whatever station I had landed on, pumping out what I guessed to be either Dave Matthews Band or Phish. 

_Is there really a difference?_

That short stretch of road, those few minutes, were almost peaceful. Almost pleasant. Almost calm. Yet there was still that small voice that insisted such calm could only prelude a massive storm.

_Always have to be so negative, huh?_

Both the parking lot and the hallways leading to my apartment were mostly empty. Not unusual for a Sunday afternoon; everybody’s getting lunch after praying away the sins of Saturday. In fact, nothing about the trek up to my door seemed unusual. That is, until I discovered my door partially ajar.


	2. The Other Guy who Broke into My Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Not to Respond to Finding your Door Ajar 101:  
> Stand staring at it for nearly 10 minutes, smiling awkwardly at a passing neighbor and arguing with yourself that no- even on your most spacey days you would never forget to lock the door. While effectively staying out of immediate danger, there’s a strong chance the burglar will find you before you can find him-

“Do you live here?” Asked the unreasonably attractive intruder. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the look of a lost puppy on a doorstep. Only _I_ was the one on the doorstep. 

“Yup.” 

“ I thought there was someone here. I tried knocking but no one answered.” 

I laughed, “So You decided to break in?”

The man went quiet for several seconds, “Wrong… address…” his eyes had dropped to the jacket. Mystery Man’s jacket. They lingered there, then fell further to the plastic bag hanging from my wrist, “What did you get?” 

I nearly answered; deeply ingrained politeness demanded such causal inquiries be responded to. What came out instead was a much more rational: “Get out of my apartment.” 

“It’s a phone, isn’t it? He stole your phone.” He held up a slip of paper, pen scribbled on a napkin from the bar I met Mystery Man at. 

I reached for it, and he gave it up easily enough. The handwriting was messy but almost flowing in a way. It wasn’t signed, but I didn’t need an analyst to know it was from the thief. 

_You’re safer without one._

_Sorry_

“Where the hell did you find this?” 

The man gestured vaguely back inside the apartment, “On the floor. Underneath a pillow. Can you describe the person that left this?” 

I stared at the note, the handwriting, the apology, somehow completely missed. 

_Would’ve saved me the search. Well done, Sherlock, ya missed the confession at the crime scene._

“Get out.” I repeated to the man still standing in the doorway like I had intruded on him. Neither of us moved. 

“Brown hair… metal arm. He was here wasn’t he?”

I locked eyes with him, searching for anything other than the quiet desperation he was currently showing. There was something so undoubtedly familiar about him too, wasn’t there? Like passing a low-level actor on the street, not immediately recognizable but… 

_Who’ll duh duhduh duh duh duh duh for America…_

_bumbumbum…_

“What do you want?” 

“Is he coming back?” 

“He stole my phone, you really think he’s a regular visitor?” 

It wasn’t hard to miss the disappointment that crossed his features. _Golden boy is an open book._

“Did he hurt you?” 

My mind went to bruises on my thighs, the moments when his fingers were tangled in my hair or placed carefully around my throat and I could only beg him for more with one word, ‘ _harder’._ I choked down the immediate urge to relay this all to the man in my doorway- _see how easy it is to make the golden boy blush-_ and instead settled for shaking my head. I could only hope that by answering his questions, it would get him out faster and the same sick feeling I’d had in the car would go away. 

_I’ll have to move. Head south into America or hop the continent altogether._

The hopping continents bit was a little overdramatic, but otherwise, the frantic voice at the back of my head was making sense, for once. One too many grossly attractive strangers is a clear sign of trouble. 

The man in the doorway still hadn’t moved, still giving me the damn kicked puppy look, “Did you… know him?” He asked this cautiously, almost like he feared whatever answer I could possibly give him. To be entirely honest, so was I. I couldn’t deny the Mystery Man had been familiar. So, incredibly familiar- _Hadn’t I known just where to touch? Hadn’t he? Wasn’t he there in the red fog with-_

_That’s enough._

Just like that, the train of thought was cut off with a stern voice echoing from that red fog. The same voice that had shouted at me anytime I attempted to peer through the thick cloud that concealed everything I didn’t want to think about. Everything I claimed I _couldn’t_ remember. But I could. I just wouldn’t. But one thing was made abundantly clear by that voice, that refusal to let me go further: I _had_ known him. 

So I nodded. 

A family pushed the door leading in from the stairwell open and headed down the hallway we were currently standing in.

I smiled politely, raising a hand, “Hey, Mr. Ross, Pat.” 

They returned the wave and continued on, the couple sharing a look. As soon as they rounded the corner, I grabbed the man by the front of the shirt and yanked him into the hallway. I managed to get into my apartment and get my hands out the door, but he caught it before I could get it shut. 

“He’s not here. He’s not coming back. Please leave.” I tried, unsuccessfully, to force the door closed again.

“Why was he here in the first place?” 

I sighed and locked eyes with him, “You don’t wanna know.” 

He still didn’t budge. 

“We… we fucked, alright? You happy?” 

_That_ threw him for a loop. 

_So, I’m guessing he’s not some kinda PI for Mystery Man’s secret wife, huh?_

“Wait, you- you said you knew who he was-“ the man sputtered. _Turns out, it’s incredibly easy to make the golden boy blush._

“I said I knew him. Never said I knew who he was. Big difference.”

His eyebrows lowered in confusion- _such expressive eyebrows-_ and he lowered the hand holding the door just a tiny bit, a nearly unnoticeable move. I took the opportunity to push the door again, getting it inches away from the latch before he caught it again, “Ma’am I just want to talk. How do you know him?” 

I shot him a glare through the gap in the door, “You _broke into my apartment,_ you don’t get to ‘ma’am’ me! Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

The man glanced around the hallway then leaned close to the door, lowering his voice, “My name is Steve Rogers.” 

Bells went off in my memory. It was familiar alright, but whoever he was had pissed me off enough that I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He could be the Prime Minister, didn’t give him the right to break into my apartment and interrogate me at my own front door. 

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” 

He sighed, “Captain America.” 

I released my grip on the door. Steve Rogers, _Captain America_ stumbled forward, bringing with him a crash of memories of news reports. The attack in New York, the helicarrier crashes, the Hydra files-

_The Winter Soldier._

A blinding light tore through the fog- _The snow in Siberia. Red on white on white on white. For miles and miles. Just the white just the snow-_ and I knew with striking clarity who I had just spent the night with. Who had stolen my phone- _You're safer without one-_ and disappeared. Who had, judging from the celebrity intruder searching for him, put me in an incredible amount of danger. I had completely forgotten there was a knife in the jacket I was wearing until I had it pressed against Captain America's throat. He didn't move, though it was hard to miss the hitch in his breath, and instead calmly glanced back at the door to the stairwell, behind which footsteps were growing steadily. 

"I take it I can come inside now?"


	3. A Rose, by Any Other Name

_ The flames licked behind the windows that surrounded the observation room. The smoke had filled the air- and my lungs- long ago. Each breath burned like the fire reaching out to consume me. 22 minutes since the asset left. I didn’t move. I counted seconds and possible weapons in the room that I wouldn’t use. I couldn’t. I was… deactivated. Then the Asset. The Winter Soldier- MY soldier- taking my hand, saying… something? Then his lips against mine. Glass shattering. The snow.  _

Captain America sat on my couch. I stood, staring at him, a handgun- that I had no immediate recollection of owning or stashing yet retrieved without hesitation- - aimed right between his damn expressive eyebrows. There was nothing but silence for what felt like an eternity. Just staring. A clock in my apartment had started to seem incredibly loud.  _ 10 seconds, 30, 1 minute, 1 minute 30, 2 minutes, tic, tic, tic, tic...  _ We were testing each other, seeing who would speak first. It wouldn’t be me. He knew enough. I wanted him gone. I wanted to pack. I wanted to leave. New apartment, new quiet town, new quiet job. Everything could fade into the fog again. I could move on. I was good at that. 

Captain America finally broke, clearing his throat, “How do you know Bucky?” 

“Bucky? You mean the Winter Soldier? I worked with him.” I replied. If this man wanted answers, he could have them. I barely had any myself. 

Steve’s eyes widened- _ open book _ \- “You… work for Hydra?” 

I sighed “No, I  _ worked  _ with the Winter Soldier. I rarely got involved with Hydra.” 

Those damn eyebrows furrowed again, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You worked with Bu- the Winter Soldier, but not Hydra, and that’s all past-tense but he shows up here last night to- see you, then steals your phone? Were you in contact with him?” 

_ He already thinks I sound insane. Or like a liar. _

“No, I… I didn’t know who he was when I invited him over. I didn’t remember him. Or… any of it.” 

“Any of it? Any of what?” 

I shrugged, “Hell if I know. Look, either you’re leaving through the front door or the spiritual realm. I don’t care either way, as long as it wraps up quickly. What do you want from me?”

Steve hit me with that lost puppy look again, “I need to find him.” 

I wanted to punch him. I genuinely wanted to punch Captain America, “He came and left of his own accord. I don’t know where he is. I can’t contact him and frankly I don’t think I want to. I’m in enough trouble now as it is. Bad enough he shows up and paints a target on my back, now you’ve come along and put up a neon sign. If someone from Hydra hasn’t already taken notice, it won’t be long.” 

“I thought you said you barely got involved in Hydra?” 

_ The snow in Siberia.  _

“I didn’t, doesn’t mean they never got involved in me. I’m what they might view as a loose end. I think they already ordered me dead once.” 

Steve leaned forward, far too comfortable for a man with a gun still fixed on him, “You think?”

_ The blood.  _

“I don’t… remember a lot of it. It was a different life. But yes, I think. And I think they’ll do it again. Even if your little house calls go unnoticed, if they get their hands on the Asset again, they’ll likely interrogate him, account for every place he’s been.” I shook my head, grip tightening on the handgun, “Do you see why I’m so pissed off now, Captain? I’ll have to leave. Give up everything, start over with nothing, just to run from a threat I can barely remember. You being here is doing nothing but dragging it out. I can’t help you.” 

Steve Rodgers stood to his full, towering height. The gun, or rather the hand holding it, followed of its own accord. He held out his hands in semi-surrender, “I think you can. I think he trusts you if he… he doesn’t even remember me. If we can contact him, you can-“

I pulled back the hammer on the handgun, “Get out.” 

“You have to understand I thought he was dead. I should have gotten him out years ago but I failed him then. I’m trying not to fail him again. He’s not just the Winter Soldier. There’s a  _ man _ in there. A good man.”

_ Stevie. “ _ Stevie.”

He froze, recoiled as if I had pulled the trigger, “What did you say?”

_ Feeling him tremble and thrash. Taking him by the arm. Hearing him whisper “Stevie?” _

“Stevie? Is that what he called you?”

_ Holding him, feeling him still, hearing him sigh, not letting him go. Never letting him go. _

Steve nodded slowly. I lowered the gun and turned away, “I really do hope you find him, for both our sakes. But I… I really cannot help you. I’m sorry. There’s a reason I can’t remember. Whoever it was that knew the Winter Soldier back then, it wasn’t me. In the same way, I don’t believe your friend was the Asset. I hope you can understand.” 

There was a sigh behind me, then the sound of footsteps towards the door. Then silence. “I can help you get out of the country. Get you to wherever you need to go. Give you resources.” He wasn’t looking at me when I turned back to him, his focus fixed on the door, “You don’t have to start over with nothing. That’s all I’m saying.”

I laughed, though it was much closer to a scoff, “Right, so you and your PJ gang can keep tabs on me? No offense, but I’m no more thrilled at the idea of the Avengers paying me a visit than Hydra.”

He finally looked back at me, face entirely serious, “This has nothing to do with them. Bucky obviously wanted you safe and I’ll admit I severely screwed that up by coming here. It’s the least I can do.” 

I lifted the gun, “I’ll be fine by myself.”

“Never said you wouldn’t. But you could be better with some help.” 

Instincts told me no. Instincts told me to shoot him-  _ he knows too much.  _ Accepting a favor from Captain America was probably one of the stupidest things I could’ve done. It would mean putting myself on the Avengers’ radar. Any hope of true anonymity gone for good. But if Steve was good on his word, if this was truly the man the Winter Soldier cried for in the night… a leg up would be nice. 

I looked up to the ceiling at the one broken bulb I never got around to fixing.  _ Now I’ll never have to.  _ I let out a deep sigh, my eyes slipping closed for a moment-  _ this is a terrible idea, this is the worst idea, I’m an absolute idiot for even considering it-  _ before opening and refocusing on Steve.

“Alright, you get me papers, tickets, cash, and a ride to the airport then I never see you again, yeah?”

Steve shook his head, “No-“ he held out a hand to cut me off before I could even start to protest, “-listen, public transit and airports mean people, eyes, cameras… now that the Hydra files are public, who’s to say you’re not in there. Even as an associate, you have to have a profile. I’ll get you the money and documents, but  _ I’ll  _ take you wherever you want to go… or at least drop you off on the same continent.”

I crossed my arms, “This is your way of getting more time with me to ask more questions, isn’t it?” 

“Maybe, but you still get something out of this, right?” 

I knew there was bound to be some sort of catch. At least he would finally realize I really didn’t know anything that could help him. “How quickly can we leave?” 

He smiled-  _ asshole-  _ and glanced at his watch, “How quickly can you be packed?” 

“If I start now… 5 minutes.” 

“Better get started then.” 

Just like with the gun, instincts took over and fetched a small black duffel bag that I, again, had no recollection of owning. I couldn’t help but wonder as I grabbed what I needed from efficiently placed locations how many times I’ve had to do this. How many times have I felt towns that have slipped quietly into the red fog, forgotten? How sure was I that I would have to do it again that I always returned my toiletries to a bag after I used them instead of my nearly bare drawers? After the necessities from the bathroom and a few changes of clothes went more weapons. Firearms and blades hidden EVERYWHERE that I had almost no knowledge of. Almost. Because, as I had begun to get used to, I grabbed them all without hesitation. 

The unnerved look on Steve’s face was clear, watching me drop knife after knife into the bag sitting on my bed. I couldn’t blame him. I was probably mirroring that look, no more prepared for just how paranoid I apparently was than him. 

He cleared his throat, “You never told me your name.” 

I zipped up the neatly packed duffle, shrugging, “Haven’t decided.” I glanced at the clock-  _ only 4 minutes-  _ and headed for the door, “You ready to roll?” 

Steve stood, eyebrows furrowed for several seconds before he realized I had left the bedroom and chased after me, “Wait, what do you mean you haven’t decided?” 

I rolled my eyes, hand paused on the doorknob, “I mean it doesn’t matter what my name is, I’ll have to change it anyways. I’ll let you know when I have a new one picked out.” I pulled the door open, but he shut it again, “Is this gonna be our thing now?”

“I don’t work with someone without a name.”

I sighed, “Then make one up yourself, I’m sure you can be creative.” I patted him in the center of the chest twice before shoving him away from the door. He didn’t shut it again. “What’s in a name?” I recited dramatically as I passed through the door. “That which we call a rose and all that bullshit.” Steve followed me into the hallway, waiting as I locked up the door for the last time-  _ Rest in Peace to my plants.-  _ And pocketed the keys. “You like Shakespeare, Mr. Rogers?”

He held the door to the stairwell open for me, “There was a film adaptation of Midsummer Night's Dream that came out when I was a kid. Buck took me to see it. I think… Mickey Rooney played Puck, anyways, doesn’t matter, I fell in love with it. Bucky liked to tease me about it but… he was the one that bought a copy of the script for my birthday so I could learn the soliloquy by heart. I would’ve given anything to be Robin Goofellow.”

“You strike me as more of a King Oberon type of guy.”

He  _ snorted,  _ the sound joining the chorus of our footsteps as we descended the stairs, “Definitely not, especially not back then. The  _ idea  _ of ruling over anything would’ve been enough to give me an asthma attack.” 

I glanced back at the towering frame that was following me, my mind struggling to connect it with the boy I had seen in a documentary, the child of skin and bones and a medical record with as many pages as a bible. A walking miracle all thanks to the serum. A miracle many tried to replicate once he was lost. Hundreds of tests all over the world, hundreds of people dead, disfigured, or worse all trying to recapture the success of the asthmatic golden boy from Brooklyn. 

_ Hundreds lost and they only succeeded 12 times.  _

Twelve? Could’ve been. The Winter Soldier, of course, being the crowning achievement, even if only by technicality. But the other eleven the voice from the crimson fog was supposedly so sure about? I had no clue. 

_ Needles in tiny arms. Piano. The clenching and release of unscarred fists over and over. The crying. Stop now, that’s enough, no more! _

The voice shouted frantically, trying to spook me like an animal away from the path of recollection it had started to lure me down. 

“Are you okay?” 

I blinked and Steve was suddenly in front of me, covering my hand, which turned out to be white-knuckling the handrail, with his own. I looked down and found myself stopped on the bottom step _ \- when did we make it to the bottom? We just hit the second floor. _

“Where did you just go?”

I lifted my eyes back up to his, “Sorry, what?” 

His brows furrowed again, “It looked like your mind went away for a second, what happened?” 

I shrugged, yanking my hand away and brushing past him, “Nothing, I was just thinking.” 

I expected him to interrogate me further, but when I looked back, Steve had stayed at the bottom of the stairs, fingers now running along the smooth, albeit a bit dirty, metal of the handrail. Except… where he was touching wasn’t smooth anymore. Even from my distance I could see that the last few inches had been dented. Not much, like someone had just held an aluminum can too tight, but definitely noticeable. So why hadn’t I noticed it before? And why was Captain America so fascinated by it? 

“Steve?” I called halfheartedly. He looked back at me, hand still grazing the rail. I raised an eyebrow, “Where did you just go?”

He looked back at the dents, then back to me, then finally rested on the rail. The fingers running over the damage slipped up a few inches to unblemished metal and squeezed. Hard. Knuckles paling as mine had. There was a soft crunch,  _ aluminum can.  _ I glanced back towards the door, opening my mouth to tell him we should hurry it along, but he raised his free hand to cut me off. The fingers grasping the metal lifted to reveal indentions dearly identical to the ones he had been so enraptured by. 

“What’re you doing? Is this supposed to be some weird form of vandalism?” The longer I watched him, the less I understood what his aim was. 

His eyes locked with mine as he gestured to the crumpled rail as if I hadn’t possibly seen it, “That wasn’t easy.”

_ Please tell me my mini dissociation episode wasn’t actually my last mental break. _

“Uh… Congratulations?”

“You did that!”

“... Okay, what the actual FUCK are you talking about? You did that, Steve. I just WATCHED-”

He pointed lower, to the first set of dents that had started it all, “That. YOU did that. Without even realizing it.”

I shook my head, having no other solid protest, and took a step closer to the door, “We need to go before someone sees you crushing the shit out of the banister to see how hard it is.” 

“How did you do that?” 

“Steve, this can’t happen here. You said you’d take me to safety and so far you’ve put me in more danger than ever. So let’s get out of here, then you can ask all the unanswerable questions you want, okay?” I yanked open the door leading outside and held it open, staring at him expectantly, “Besides, I’ve been taking you at your word till now, it’s time you showed a little faith in me.” 

Steve openly scrutinized me, eyes narrowed and posture uneasy, but I knew- even before he passed me into the parking lot- that he would cave. He was clearly devoted to finding his Bucky and only that. There was some comfort in knowing he cared little about me outside of that.  He led me to an unassuming silver vehicle, a few years out of date.  _ So his business was… unofficial.  _ After lingering for so long he suddenly seemed in a hurry, getting in, buckling his seatbelt, and starting the car before I could even get the door open.

As soon as we had cleared the parking lot, the questions returned. Well, the singular question: “How did you do that to the banister?” 

I leaned back in my seat, letting a deep breath and a shroud slump me further, “I told you earlier, my memory is spotty at the best of times.” 

“Yeah, I don’t like that answer anymore. Who are you? Why did you work with Hydra?” 

“I worked with-“ 

“The Winter Soldier is Hydra. They’re one and the same.” 

I suddenly felt very hot. Insulted. I squared up in my seat, head snapping towards him, “He was not! Hydra held his leash, but he was not them.” 

Steve let out a sharp breath, eyes never leaving the road, “I’m going to ask this once; are you like Bucky and I?” 

I almost asked him what he meant, but I knew I understood perfectly. Did the same serum that ran through his veins, or at least some successful bastardization of it, run through mine? Was I… enhanced? The truth was, I  _ couldn’t  _ remember ever being injected with the serum. I must’ve been too young to even realize what was happening.

_ But I remember watching the others. The ones that came after me. The ones that failed. We all got it. It’s what united us. It tore them apart. All of them. But not me.  _

The voice didn’t push me out this time. My hand went to my neck, to the scar and what it had been made to conceal. The tattoo. A string of numbers. A name.  _ My name. _

_ The blade cut the ink, made them illegible, but they’re still there. Burned into tendon and muscle and bone. Burned into my very existence. _

I felt sick again. The fog had parted and I was now standing in past it, face to face with what I had always known. But now I wanted nothing more than to turn on my heel and run. To let the fog close again and forget. Just… forget. 

Instead of running, I felt my head begin to nod and I heard myself speak, “Yeah, I think I am.” 

_ Right, Steve, almost forgot about him.  _

He seemed caught off guard by my answer, like he had half accepted my silence, “So… you were Hydra, then?” 

My skin crawled, “I already told you, no.” 

“Who else had the serum? Who else could’ve accomplished that?” 

“Snowfall.” The word came out like projectile vomit. Unexpected and disgusting, leaving a sick taste on my tongue. 

“Who?” 

_ I don’t know.  _ “They were arms dealers. Nothing like your friend Mr. Stark, but they did well. They specialized in the weird stuff that started circulating after New York.” 

Steve scoffed, “And making super soldiers?” 

“Not originally. But then Dr. Harding came along. You knew him, he interned for Howard Stark as a teenager. Never shut up about that. Anyways, he was the one who suggested recreating the Winter Soldier thing Hydra had but with less… inconvenient steps.” 

“What do you mean?” 

What  _ did  _ I mean? What was I even talking about? This was stuff I didn’t even know I remembered, and I was spewing it all to Captain fucking America. That was quite enough of that. 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “What does this have to do with Bucky? You’re wasting your time on a dead organization.” 

He sighed, stealing a glance at me, “Fine, if… Snowfall was separate from Hydra, how did you get involved with the Winter Soldier.” 

“Well, Snowfall dealt weapons, right? In their eyes, I was just another bomb. They more or less… rented me out to Hydra. They were never thrilled about not having my true loyalty. But, by making the Winter Soldier my commanding officer, they figured we would keep each other in line.”

“When was this?” 

“I was… 19? So it would’ve been… 1963.”  _ I was 19 in 1963? _

“You were  _ 19  _ in 1963?” Steve echoed my thoughts, “How old are you?” 

“How old are you, Captain? How old’s your friend? Age gets tricky when the ice is involved.” 

He nodded. That he could understand. He had to be pushing 90.

I never seemed to be aware when they were freezing me. I think they must’ve always drugged me, because I would fall asleep and wake up to older faces and a new world. Even a few years felt drastic. So much can change. 

A phone pierced through the silence that had fallen between us. There seemed to be a lot of that between us. 

Stove grimaced and fished it out of the console between us, grimacing again when he saw the name. He answered, “Yeah?” 

The voice on the other end sounded agitated… and familiar, “ _ Where the hell have you been?”  _

“Following a lead on Bucky. Ontario.” 

“ _ Canada? Jesus. Did you find anything?”  _

Steve cast a glance at me, “No, not really.” 

“ _ Great, while you were off playing hide and seek, the team, YOUR team has been working on Rumlow. We think he’s about to make a move in Lagos. A big one. Tomorrow. I need your ass back here now.”  _

“I’m on my way.” Steve ended to call with a deep, slow sigh. 

_ There goes my ride outta here.  _

“Now what?” I asked. 

Steve shrugged slightly, “I don’t suppose you can fly a plane.” 

“Well…” 


	4. Ella Fucking Enchanted

**1963- Arnis, Germany**

_ Several assurances had been made that the product was safely deactivated. ‘Put away’ so to speak. Even so, a young Hydra guard was assigned to stand with her in the hallway as the business end of things was hashed out. He kept a solemn face well enough, but the way she stared unsettled him. Eyes unwavering, burning. He kept a wary eye on her and a hand on his gun. He had heard she was only a teenager, but she looked older than him. She stood at about his height if not an inch taller. He would admit to his friends later he found her attractive. It was hard not to.  _

_ The door finally slid open, flooding the dim hallway with stark light.  _

_ “Approach.” _

_ The soldier obeyed, stepping into the wide room full of men. Strangers. Commanding officers. Hydra. She had a vague understanding of what was happening here. She was being appraised. Hums of approval echoed from them. Then, she found the doctor. Her doctor. She locked on to him and waited.  _

_ “Identify.” _

_ “21753” She recited obediently, not like they actually needed her to tell them.  _

_ One of the men approached her to get a better look, lifting and turning her chin with a single finger. She was pliable. “Very impressive. You’ve kept her away from us for too long, Doctor.” _

_ “Perfection is a process. She is perfection.” _

_ The man held his gaze with the doctor, reading the lie in his voice. After a beat of silence, he turned towards the soldiers that lined the room. “Bring in the asset.” _

_ Opposite of where 21753 had entered, a metal door slid open and a man emerged from the shadows. He was flanked by 4 soldiers, all heavily armed. His eyes locked on the girl. She was new. She was a threat. _

_ The doctor stood between them, a twisted smile on his lips. “Identify the Winter Soldier as your superior. All orders will be obeyed unless contradicted by outranking officers. Confirm.” _

_ “Confirmed. Asset, alias: Winter Soldier, identified as commanding officer. Awaiting orders.” _

_ A satisfied sigh came from the doctor as he turned to face the asset, “Take care of her, won’t you?” _

The flight from New York to Bulgaria was surprisingly painless. It was pretty much the only painless thing about the whole situation. By the time I landed in what I hoped to be an abandoned field and not someone’s farm, the running commentary in my head was a pretty consistent stream of:  _ fuck Steve Rogers, fuck James Barnes, fuck the Avengers, fuck Hydra… _ and so on. And all of it was justified. Every bit of it. I had a life, a decent one. Normal. I hadn’t realized how much that meant until I was hiking the nearly 5 kilometers to the nearest town without even knowing if a town was really there- I was never much good with geography- to wait for a man I had no reason to trust. Well, almost no reason. 

The Winter Soldier, or whoever he had been before, cried for him. Only him. He had so many nightmares, but he only cried for Steve,  _ Stevie.  _ That had to mean something. I needed it to. I had nothing else but those distant memories of holding my- the asset as he became a stranger in dreams. The solidity of him, the warmth, I could trust that. Hadn’t he held me too? Hadn’t he soothed my demons as I tried to soothe his?

_ You sing in your sleep. _

The town, or rather, village was further than expected, but luckily real. From Ribaritsa I was able to get a ride to Rust, right on the border of Romania. It was just the right amount of crowded. Bustling streets were easy enough to disappear in. I would need to disappear. 

Steve would meet me here after his mission. He would give me what I needed, and we would part ways. I planned to immediately head north into Romania to lay low for a few months. Then… where? Certainly not back to Ontario. I had gotten too comfortable there. But somewhere I could settle and forget again. Leave the ghosts to the red fog. 

I followed the flow of foot traffic as it rounded a corner, weaving past the occasional person going in the opposite direction. I had no destination, only a distant hope that one of the passing signs- which I could inexplicably understand despite being written in Bulgarian- would point me to a place to sleep. A broad shoulder collided with mine, the owner mumbling an apology. 

I froze, someone colliding into my back. I tried to turn, tried to apologize and keep walking but I couldn’t. That voice. He had spoken in plain, American English. One word. A reflex. 

_ “Sorry.” _

_ We had lasted so long in that tiny room without touching. Without speaking. We had existed like the dust covering every surface, floating silently. 33 hours. He had hit me with the door. Hard. Hard enough to make me yelp from the shock. And he had apologized. That was odd enough. Something he had never done even after the injuries he had given me during training. But stranger still, it wasn’t in our language, or even really in his voice. It was in English. Plain, American English. One word. A reflex.  _

_ “Sorry.” _

I spun around. He had stopped too, the passing crowd parting around us like the Red Sea. Our eyes met, his confusion plain as day. But as he registered my recognition, something changed. He seemed… happy. Relieved. For a moment, neither of us moved or made a sound. Just stared, falling back into old silent communication. Words had always been rare with us. Our language was a passing glance and brushing fingers. Stolen bits of intimacy. When I had met him at the bar, I couldn’t shake the feeling that his eyes kept asking me a question that he was desperate for an answer to. Now, interfering with the flow of traffic on a busy sidewalk, he was asking me that question again. Only this time I could understand:

_ Do you remember? _

And I answered the only way I knew how when It came to the matter of memory. I turned on my heel and I ran. Steve may have been interested in finding the Winter Soldier, but I sure as hell wasn’t. I couldn’t afford to leave town without the help from Steve; I needed to be able to lay low and the asset was a walking target. I ducked through the crowd, hoping he would understand. After all, hadn’t he been the one to run first? My hopes were dashed by the disgruntled protests of the pedestrians behind me as the towering supersoldier barrelled straight through them. I cut right across the street, narrowly missing a car, and dove into an alleyway. I somehow managed to clear a fence, though just barely, and was almost out onto another street when his voice echoed around me. Different from his reflexive apology, deeper. More dangerous. Again, he only spoke one word. This time, an order. This time, there was no doubt as to who was speaking. 

“Стой!”

_ Stop! _

My body froze again, muscles locking and clenching to an almost painful degree before falling completely numb. It was like when you ignore your foot falling asleep for too long and suddenly you can’t move it at all, except everywhere. The Winter Soldier appeared behind me, fingers closing around my wrist as he spun me around to face him. There was fire in his eyes, hot and raging. 

“You know me.” There was no question now, but still I nodded. “You remembered.” I nodded again. There was so much joy in him then, radiating from him. The fingers that were holding my wrist moved up to graze my cheek, the gentle touch igniting a sudden, intense need. In an instant, my lips were on his, an act that felt so forbidden though I had done much more hours before. That had been different, he was a stranger then. But now he was  _ my _ soldier. I could try to deny it, but I wasn’t the one in control at that moment.  _ She _ was. Whoever had been denied this man for so long. 

The flames in his eyes danced in our mouths as he held me closer, grasping me as if he were afraid I’d melt away.

I wanted to stay in that moment, lost in the heat of him, but that desire was what made me pull away. In remembering how much I needed him, who we were and the danger that came with him became even more clear. There was also one blaring fact that I had nearly overlooked. 

“You compromised me.” I stepped away from him, dodging his hand as he reached out to grab me again. His heavy brows furrowed in confusion, like he couldn’t possibly know what I was referring to. I could’ve punched him for that look-  _ Oh boy, now I get to deal with TWO super soldiers with extremely deck-able faces. If I was a praying girl I’d be down on my knees begging for the strength of restraint. _ \- I pointed a finger at the center of his chest, “I have Shield and probably Hydra on my ass now because of YOU.” 

His eyes widened, “Shield?” 

“Yeah, Captain America showed up on my doorstep like  _ somebody’s  _ lost puppy and let himself in. He knows who I am now. What I am. Said he’ll keep it a secret but I have my doubts.” 

He didn’t seem to be listening, brows lowered and eyes darting again, “You talked to Steve?” 

The thin band of patience that had been holding me back finally snapped. I flattened my hand against his chest and shoved. I didn’t push very hard, but the surprise of it was enough to knock him on his ass.

_ So much for Super soldier, huh? _

I stood over him, lightly placing a foot on his shoulder to keep him in place, “Listen, you walking brick wall, you fucking ruined me. Do you get that? Forget Captain America, what about Hydra, huh? The ones who, up until now, have believed I’m dead, what about them? If they know-“ 

“They HAVE known.” The Asset cut me off. He didn’t make any attempts to move, just stared at me as I registered what he said. 

“What?” 

“You served coffee to a former agent. One of my handlers. He recognized you and reported it. Almost sent me to do it before they realized if you were alive... They almost wiped me again because of it.” He winced, an almost unnoticeable reaction to his own words. If I was alive, it meant the Asset didn’t do his job, and that meant what I had always less-than-lovingly referred to as ‘reprogramming’. I couldn’t quite remember what that meant, but I sure as hell remember the screaming that would come from that room.

“If Hydra knows about me, then how the hell am I still alive?”

“They figured they’d get you with the network. That crash in D.C.? You would have been dead that day if things had gone smoothly.” 

_ Shit. There goes my only hope of disappearing again.  _

I lifted my foot from his shoulder and took a few steps away as he stood, nearly taking the opportunity to book it down the alleyway again. Considering what happened last time, I wasn’t sure I’d make it very far. 

_ I wasn’t able to move my own body, at all, because HE told me to stop. Am I Ella fucking Enchanted?  _

The idea, as ridiculous as it was, still rang a tad bit too true deep down, and it was enough to make me feel sick again.

_ Identify the Winter Soldier as your superior. All orders will be obeyed… _

I shot my hand out to brace myself against a wall, the other hand going to my mouth as I tried to stifle a gag. The Asset-  _ my fucking superior-  _ took a single step towards me, but seemed unsure what to do about what he was witnessing-  _ You’re witnessing a mental crisis that YOU caused, asshole. Hydra knows I’m alive and knew before they blew up. The man repeatedly ordered to kill me essentially has mind control powers over me. And, on top of it all, the Golden Boy of Shield is on my ass! Phenomenal!-  _ which was essentially me staring daggers at him while looking as if I was dying. 

“We should really go somewhere more private-“ he began, sounding genuine and gentle enough, but, in the wise words of a random comedian I watched once: he was not getting me to no secondary location. 

The hand in front of my mouth dropped, revealing what I hoped to be a stern look despite still holding back vomit, “We’re not going anywhere but our separate ways.”

Everything about him seemed to  _ droop _ at that, not quite the lost puppy look that Captain America had pissed me off with so much, but… more like I told him someone had kicked his puppy. He didn’t say anything for several seconds, clearly not wanting to accept my answer but also seeming to not have any way to rebut it. He knew as well as I did that being together would be bad news to both of us. I was way more likely to be recognized as the Winter Soldier’s former affiliate standing next to him than alone and I doubted he wanted Steve knowing where he was. Really, the only logical thing for us to do would be to head to different countries and pray our paths never cross again. Of course I should’ve known logic was a bit too much to ask for in my circumstances because, instead of walking away, the Asset was stepping towards me again, “I know you’re confused-“ 

“Oh don’t start with that shit,” I snapped, “Yeah, you know what, I’m confused as to why we’re still talking.”

“- _ I’m  _ confused,” He corrected, “Nothing’s been right since that helicarrier. I don’t… remember much about before that mission. I get… glimpses of memory but…” he shook his head, shorting the distance between us even more, “After the crash, I didn’t know what to do. There was no one to report back to, Hydra was in flames, and the only thing going through my head was the man I had just pulled out of the river and… you. The mention of you. You were… important somehow. I wanted to find you and warn you and… I don’t know. But I found you, and I  _ knew  _ it was you but you looked at me like a stranger and that felt… really wrong. But just being around you made me remember. Not just us, things from  _ before  _ too. Things are all jumbled up in my head but… looking at you makes it all so much clearer. I just… I want to talk. Please. You’re the only solid thing I’ve got right now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy so remember how I said I pretty much had the story written and was just going to be distributing chapters? Well... uh... guess who decided to rewrite everything again? 
> 
> So this WAS meant to just be a rewrite for “the Wolf, the Robin, and the Soldier”, but reception to this isn’t nearly the same as it was to that fic, and I’m still not super sold on the way I handled that story, so from here on things diverge a bit more. Think of it as WRS but Bucky edition because, let’s be honest, I started this whole thing because I’m horny for Sebastian and the fact that Steve was the focus of the first fic was purely because I thought the plot demanded it. That also brings me to mention: things are gonna get WAY more cannon divergent from here as well. I used to put a lot of effort into making sure the story fit nicely into the existing cannon but I’ve rewatched that damn airport battle scene so many times to get who fights who right and it really didn’t end up mattering in the long run. So I’m warning you now, things might jump completely off the canon train without warning and I beg you to bare with me. 
> 
> One final thing: I’m going to restart my old Fanfic Tumblr so I can start taking requests again. So, if you want a very subpar fic, or just talk to be about this one, you can visit me over @pro-unpro on Tumblr   
> Thanks for continuing to read!   
> -The Author :)


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